On Lighthouses

I am my calling to God every morning, to the great Mother to save me, to make my family whole. My dreams remind me, most of my consciousness remains buried in a dark house somewhere, up a long twisted, dark road. A thing you forget to remember. That mechanism, so difficult to grasp, harder still to hold - a great stack of stones that leans further still. And continues to lean as it comes into the light. (And the darkness comprehended it not.) As the light of awakeness implored its brilliance to thwart the overpowering sea. A light house. And that is why our romance with these ancillary seafaring structures - desperate and obligated to keep our seaman safe.